Bref, mais vrai

I spent two days in Venice last weekend. One of the biggest carnivals in the world is taking place right now, and the people from my villa and I clearly wanted to actively participate in this mind-blowing event. After a two-hour train ride from Bologna, we arrived at the station, and we took a bus that brought us to where we were going to stay: a camping site. Our young and adventurous minds didn’t really care about the quality of the beds on which we were going to sleep, and we thus decided that our trip was going to be done in an old-fashioned way. We got there at 7:30 p.m. and at 9, we took a boat that took us downtown Venice in less than twenty minutes. Only by seeing it from far, I could tell that Venice was going to be an important part of my trip to Italy.

The city was like a gigantic Commedia dell’arte play. Everybody was wearing one of those typical colourful masks, and some people were dressed up from head to toe. There was music everywhere and often, groups of young adults were dancing and singing in the streets. My friends and I actually joined a few of them throughout the night. When we arrived at Piazza Marco, the biggest one in Venice, a show had already begun. It actually took me quite some time to realize that the women performing on stage were actually men. Don’t get me wrong; I have seen many drag queens in my life and I am more than capable of recognizing them. These ones, however, were wearing huge marvelous masks that were covering their faces, and they had makeup all over their body. The show itself was a normal drag queen performance, similar to the ones you can see in Montreal.

Zoé was one of these people that I had only seen a few times in my life, but that I always thought was insanely cool. When I saw on Facebook that she was going to be in Venice at the same time as me, I simply had to let her know that I was going to be there as well. My villa friends wanted to keep watching the show, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity of seeing Zoé. Therefore, I left them and went on to see my Quebec friend. Our meeting spot was a bridge, the Ponte di Rialto. After getting lost for only twenty minutes, I was there and thrilled to finally see her. The bridge itself was simply fantastic. Imagine everything you know about Venice: the gondolas, the canals, the water and the lights all over. That was the view I had on top of Ponte di Rialto. I shall keep it in my mind for a very long time.

I turned around when I heard my name from far. Zoé had arrived. After a two-minute hug, she introduced me to her friend Paula who was accompanying her. We all went back to Paula’s place where Zoé was staying. There, there was a little get together happening. Most people were Italian, but there was also a French girl. Everybody was very nice and together, we ate and drank. Paula’s apartment had a huge window with another amazing view of Venice. Zoé and I had a conversation next to it. It was the kind of conversation that makes you understand how lucky and privileged you are to be in Italy with awesome people, living an unforgettable moment. I had to leave rather early because we had to catch a train in order to go back to the camping site. “Ce fut bref, mais ce fut vrai.” These are the last words that Zoé said before I left, and they truly touched me.

It was midnight. I was alone. I had a train to catch. I was in a very foreign city that looks like a labyrinth. You do the math. Ironically though, it was in this situation that I felt like I connected with the city. I was going through the small and the big streets, talking with the people in order to find my way. All the Italians to whom I spoke were extremely nice. I asked my way to a young couple and ended up talking to them about Italian literature for fifteen minutes, and another man told me about his wife who was in the United States after telling me how to get to the train station. I was lucky. Very lucky. I got on the train as it started moving.

The next day, we went back to Bologna to live an experience that one has to live when they go to Europe: a football game (Europeans will make fun of you if you call it “soccer”). I played football for four years, and I was pretty excited to see what it was like in Italy. The stadium is enormous. More than 30 000 people can fit, and it’s far from being the biggest one in Italy. Everybody screams and sings different chants, and after only two minutes, you’re brought into a universe in which the only thing that matters is for the ball to get into the net. You will do everything in your power so that it happens, even if you look stupid or retarded. I had no voice when I went back home. And now, as I’m running out of inspiration, I’ll go to my bed and rest in an extremely Italian fashionable way.